


He Thought He'd Be Relieved

by GinAndShatteredDreams



Series: The Man Downstairs AU [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Emotional Abuse, Gen, Stangst, discussions of sexual abuse, it's just a tough discussion, nothing actually happened, psychological abuse, sexual abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinAndShatteredDreams/pseuds/GinAndShatteredDreams
Summary: Part of The Man Downstairs AU (originally written after chapter 19 but it's a flashback so it could fit in anywhere) - Stan works up the courage to ask Ford a difficult question and gets an answer that is both a relief and a disturbing insight into how much psychological/emotional damage Bill has caused.
Series: The Man Downstairs AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903153
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	He Thought He'd Be Relieved

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the tags, nothing actually happened but it is a conversation that could understandably be uncomfortable for some readers. I had this posted elsewhere as a related but unnecessary part for a while for that reason (with a link in the end notes of chapter 19). If you've already read that, this is the same thing so no need to reread, I just wanted to post it here to organize things a bit better. And no worries if you'd rather not read it but are reading the main fic! As mentioned it's unnecessary to it and the TL;DR is that, no, I'm not censoring things for the sake of keeping it gen. Bill has *actually* never sexually abused Ford.

*1995*  
  
It had already been three years- Three years since that demon discovered a way to possess Ford's body whenever he pleased and they still had no way of stopping him. Stan hated it, hated that his brother couldn't see daylight without being restrained, hated that he was confined to the musty room in the basement, hated that he couldn't even go to the diner for a burger anymore. Even so, he followed through with their new form of normal, bringing supplies down to the basement in an attempt to offer any form of comfort to his brother.  
  
Stan knocked, as usual, before entering Ford's room. He'd always told himself it was because he didn't want to wake him or walk in on him in some state of undress and, while both of those were true, his gut churned at a third reason, one that constantly nagged at the back of his mind, one that left him laying awake at night, worry and guilt coursing through his consciousness even though he'd never once seen evidence to support any suspicions. But still, just because he'd never seen it didn't mean it wasn't happening. Would Ford mention anything if it was? Considering he concealed scratches and bruises daily, Stan guessed there was no way he'd tell him if Bill was sexually abusing him.  
  
Stan couldn't help but wonder how many of his brother's cover-ups came from an attempt to spare him worry, how many came from whatever was left of his pride, and how many came from fear that they would have to reemploy the straitjacket to keep him physically safe. He'd tried to reassure Ford that he agreed about the mental impact of being bound at all times probably being worse than some cuts and bruises but, was it worse than that monster forcing-?  
  
"Come in," Ford's answer interrupted the sickening scenarios his mind conjured.  
  
As he twisted the doorknob, his mind turned somersaults. Part of him wanted answers once and for all, part of him didn't want to mention anything and possibly give that demon any ideas, and yet another part didn't want to know the truth because, if his fears turned out to be true, he'd find a way to tear that monster limb from limb with his bare hands. Not that he didn't already want to.  
  
"Hey, you doing alright?" Stan asked, stepping inside, fresh clothes draped over his arm and a tote bag filled with snack foods slung over his shoulder.   
  
"No issues to speak of today," Ford answered, lowering his head to push curls of grey-streaked brown away from his forehead, assuring his sweater sleeves remained snug against his wrists.  
  
"Good. That's... Good," Stan said, plastering on a fake smile as he set the clothes and bag onto the top of a cedar storage chest beside the door. His smile sagged as he approached the bars to his brother's basement cell, his thoughts swirling, wondering whether or not he had the courage to speak his mind.  
  
"Alright..." Ford said with a raised brow and knowing tone. He draped his arms over the horizontal support bar, his sweater sleeves pulled over his hands. "I know that face, what's wrong? Did something happen upstairs? Did that snowstorm cause some damage?"  
  
"No no, everything's fine," Stan said, waving it off. _Coward_. He reached into the pocket of his sweat pants and pulled out a slightly crumpled letter, presenting it to his brother. "In fact, I got some news from Shermy. Says his son's got a new girlfriend. Maybe it's the one this time."  
  
"That..." Ford said, squinting to read the cursive writing squished between brown lines on tan-tinted stationary. "That would be nice for him."  
  
"Yeah," Stan answered hesitantly, his mind still racing. He pocketed the letter again, staring absently at his shuffling slippers. "Yeah it would."  
  
"Stanley, what's going on? What's gotten you looking so worried?" Ford asked.  
  
Suddenly, Stan felt like the one stubbornly withholding information even though he could see the edge of a fresh bruise beneath the cuff of Ford's sweater sleeve.   
  
"Alright, look," he said, lifting his head and smoothing back stray strands of brown and grey. "I guess there's no easy way to ask this and I know this sort of thing is embarrassing for you to talk about but I gotta know. Bill. Has he-"  
  
Stan jumped back as Ford's head snapped up, his eyes glowing-.  
  
"Yello, at your service!" The demon interrupted, forcing Ford's hands to grip the bars as he pressed his face between them, his sweater sleeves slipping down his forearms to reveal lines of reddened scratches and one Hell of a dark bruise.   
  
Stan pursed his lips and snarled, "I'm talking about you, not to you, Bill. Go away."  
  
"Rude," Bill snapped, his expression indignant. "Fine," he said with a shrug, "Don't say anything too bad." He swiped through the bars, fingers nearly grabbing the neck of Stan's sweater. "You know I'll just find it in Fordsy's mind even if I don't hear it for myself."  
  
With that, Ford's head drooped forward, his arms hanging limp over the bar.  
  
"Ford?" Stan queried, edging forward.  
  
Ford looked up, worry etched around his eyes, and rasped, "Did he...?"  
  
"No, he didn't hurt me," Stan assured him. "But it looks like he took a good round out of you..."  
  
Ford let out a sigh of relief, tugging his sleeves back down to his wrists but otherwise ignoring Stan's concern. Instead, he walked right into a more uncomfortable situation, trying to shift the conversation back to whatever had etched worry lines around Stan's eyes. "What was it you were saying?"  
  
Typically, crude language tumbled from Stan's tongue without a second thought but, when applied to his brother's situation, it was tough to even speak in clinical terms, especially since Ford was the one who'd had to hide his blushing cheeks in their terribly vague sex-ed classes. Still, Stan steadied himself, willing the words into a coherent vocalization. "I want... Need to ask about you about what he's putting you through. I hate it. I hate this!" he huffed, motioning to Ford's covered arms, "I hate that he torments you mentally, emotionally, and physically but..." he paused, wondering how he could censor himself to avoid embarrassing Ford too much, "Has he ever... I mean... Has he ever gone so far as to abuse you... you know...?"  
  
Ford's eyes widened at the implication, his cheeks burning red. "No," he blurted, "Thank goodness, no."  
  
Stan thought he'd be relieved but somehow it raised even more questions, including whether or not his brother was telling him the truth. "Does he just..." Stan began, censoring himself again. Ford already looked mortified enough. "Does he not get how human bodies work or...?"  
  
"Ha ha ha ha!" Ford's head snapped up again, yellow glinting off the bars framing his face, "Do you think I'm stupid? This guy's brain is practically my vacation home. I know every button I could push to make him scream in pain, pleasure, or both."  
  
"Do you even get what we're talking about?" Stan asked, raising an eyebrow, "I didn't actually say-"  
  
"You didn't have to. Fordsy here definitely isn't the sharpest crayon in the box when it comes to this but, I can see he not only knew what you meant but was pretty damn uncomfortable about you asking whether or not I've... oh how would he say it...? 'forced him into any intimate situations'. Sheesh. What a prude."  
  
"So what, are you repulsed by it like the whole bathroom and human filth thing?" Stan pried, searching for any clues he could get on what may or may not have happened or what he might be able to prevent in the future.  
  
"What? No!" Bill said, lifting Ford's lip in look of disgust. "Look, Fordsy's mind may be a delight to destroy but I wouldn't touch this nerd with his own hands."  
  
Of all the horrors and hopes that haunted Stan's mind, that was something he hadn't expected. "W-what?" he stuttered, otherwise speechless.  
  
"Seriously. Gross. I'd sooner throw him into the shower and run freezing water over him." His grimace shifted into a malevolent grin as he added, "Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you feel all better? Content to know the big bad demon isn't making your brother-"  
  
"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!"  
  
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to know," Bill said with a shrug.  
  
"You're a damn liar and I don't know if I can believe a word you say," Stan spat.  
  
"Fine, let him tell you then. I mean, he's told you allllll about the other things I've done to him, right? Surely he wouldn't lie about this, right?"  
  
Ford's head slumped down, his forehead pressed against the bars as he stretched his jaw, moving it back and forth as if to shake off the way the demon had stretched his lips over his teeth.  
  
"Ford...?" Stan said, reaching through the bars to rest a hand on his shoulder.  
  
With no verbal answer, Ford ducked away, stepping backwards until his back hit the padding on the makeshift bathroom's door.  
  
"Ford, I know this is... Awkward," Stan said, his hands wrapped around the bars, framing his worried frown. "But, is what he said true?"  
  
Ford turned, his body rolling against the door and around to the foam and fabric covering the bathroom's outer wall, turning his back to Stan as his shoulder pressed into the beige padding. In a barely audible mumble, he answered, "Yes."  
  
"Don't lie to me. Ford? Ford!"  
  
"I'm not," he muttered more toward the wrinkles in his socks than to his brother. "It's true. I was worried about what he was capable of too, but... He," Ford paused, resting the side of his head against the wall, his voice apathetic as he continued, "He says no one would want to so much as touch me." He stared at his hand, balling it into a fist then releasing it, his arm draping down at his side. "And," he added, "That no one would want me to touch them."  
  
Stan's jaw dropped, fire sparking from every sizzling nerve in his body. He wasn't sure which he felt more, relief that the demon hadn't gone so far, or anger that he'd used it as a way to emotionally devastate his brother, using everything his bullies had said, everything they'd made him feel to reinforce his insecurities in his mind.  
  
He inhaled deeply as if it might help extinguish the flames but fury sparked though, edging his words in a slight growl, "Ford. Never forget that everything he says and does is to try to hurt you in whatever way he can. Don't listen to him. I know it's not easy. I know it IS easy to believe what he says but he's a sadistic monster. And if I ever get my hands on him I'll-"  
  
"It's alright, Stanley," he said, turning his head slightly toward Stan yet still not facing him. His tone was calm, too calm, as his hand clutched his arm. "I know no one wants a socially inept six-fingered freak who was gullible enough to make a deal with a demon. Heh, people didn't tolerate even speaking to me before all of this mess."  
  
Stan opened his mouth to speak, to tell Ford that all those kids who called him a freak were probably kicking themselves now that they'd grown and learned the possibilities of what six fingers could do for them. But, he thought better of it. It would probably only make his brother feel worse. He didn't want to be seen as a freak nor as something superior for his physical difference. He just wanted to be treated like everyone else. Besides, it seemed like Ford was taking this beyond the context of romance and sex-appeal and applying it to any and all social situations. Figures. The nerd knew how to point out logical fallacies when someone else used them but Stan wasn't sure exactly which this one might be to even try. Lacking in anything else to say, he simply rebuked, "D-don't talk like that, Ford-"  
  
Ford sighed, turning his head away again and, as if he meant it to be some comfort, he added, "At least these circumstances are a good excuse for my continued social failures-"  
  
"No!" Stan interrupted, his fists clenched around the bars as though he meant to break them. "Don't give him any credit! Don't give any justification to what he's putting you through! Shit. SHIT! Don't you dare start saying anything about how you think you deserve this. Don't let him make you believe that again!" His grip eased, his hands sliding down the bars. His tone softened, empathy replacing anger, "No... No one deserves this."  
  
Ford's shoulders shook as if he'd begun to sob but, as the husky sounds increased in volume, his head lifting, it was clear that Bill was forcing laughter through his lips. He thrashed Ford's body around to face Stan, the yellow glow of his eyes piercing through the bar's shadows as he taunted, "Wow good job cheering him up, genius. Sheesh. Emotional pain sure gets around in the body, doesn't it? Everything physically hurts right now and it's hilarious! Better than any bruise, that's for sure."  
  
"You're a real bastard," Stan spat, knuckles white as he clutched the bars.  
  
"Thanks, I try," Bill boasted before letting Ford's eyes dim to their natural state, his posture slouching until he caught himself, leaning heavily against the wall.  
  
"Ford..." Stan breathed, his hand reaching through the bars as if to comfort him.  
  
"I-It's alright. Just... go. Please," he whispered, one hand waving him away.  
  
Stan sighed. It seemed he didn't possess any combination of words that could stitch the shreds of his brother's psyche together again. At least, not yet. He was going to find them. But, for now, he'd add one last thing, "Ford, I don't know if this helps or not but, I wish you could see the people that show up for my tours. Bill's kept you away from reality. He's made sure you can't see people who are all awkward in their own ways but who are loved by their friends and family. There will always be bullies. There will always be people who don't like each other and people who do. We're all different so it's just a matter of finding the people who like our kind of different. And... if it means anything, I'm glad we were lucky enough to end up in the same family together. I'm glad we had each other when we were kids. I'm glad we have each other now. And you gotta know that the only thing that's stopping me from unlocking that door and hugging you right now is that I know how much it hurts you when Bill tries to hurt me."  
  
"...Thanks, Stan. I-it does help. I-"  
  
"Ugh. Enough gooey mush already," Bill forced Ford's posture into a smug stance, rolling his eyes, "Yikes. It's starting to stink in here from the amount of bullshit he's dishing out. And, you guys think I'm the liar. Why don't you just leave the nerd alone to sob himself to sleep, already," he taunted.  
  
Ford slouched forward, crumpling to his knees in exhaustion, though, whether it was physical or emotional, Stan couldn't tell.  
  
"He's lying," Ford murmured, his voice raspy.  
  
Stan didn't know what to believe except that, from what both Ford and Bill had said, it seemed the worst of his fears could be put to rest, though it certainly opened up a mystery bag of new ones. He sighed, backing away from the bars. The snacks and fresh clothes would have to wait until later. There was no way he'd ask if he could restrain his brother so he could safely restock his cell while he was in such a state. He reached for the doorknob, wondering if it he should stay awhile despite Ford's request but, experience had already proven that Bill wouldn't leave them alone if he did.  
  
"I'm gonna find a way to keep him away from you," Stan mumbled, letting himself out.  
  
_Bill knows I won't let him hurt Ford like that. He knows it will land them both in a straitjacket permanently. He's using this all to his advantage to break him emotionally instead, trying to make him hate the world that treated him so bad... Probably trying to turn him onto his side! Well, it ain't gonna happen on my watch._  
  
The Mystery Shack didn't open the next day. Instead of leading tours and selling merchandise, Stan drove to the library in search of any information he could find on abuse, depression, and demonic possession. Though he'd already read everything they had to offer on possession, he looked it over again. He was going to find a way to help Ford if he had to get a PhD in psychology and dive deep into the occult to do it.


End file.
